


Footprints in the Sand

by foundCarcosa



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He cannot return to what he once knew, not after seeing as much as he has seen, not after being all that he has been.<br/>We always tell ourselves that it's easier this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footprints in the Sand

There had not been a new continent. There were no other worlds to explore. Driftwood thrived but did not advance, Samarkand’s climate was still inhospitable, and Albion was well-travelled twice over.

Logan had run out of land to discover, and just as well — weariness had set into his bones and muscles like a slow rot, tinting his vision grey with apathy and extending the length of his deathlike slumbers. He was ageing, yes, but more than that, he was heartsick.

He’d travelled far and seen much, but he’d travelled without company and all he saw, he saw alone. He’d cherished his solitude for a short while, until bitter-cold nights and breath-taking vistas made his emptiness stand out in stark relief. His memories of warm hands and sweet words ceased to be enough.

Eventually, he hardened, the way he had after Theresa’s fateful visit, the soft parts of him buried under shale and permafrost. Eventually, he forgot how to dig them out again. Eventually, he knew he was lost — lost to Albion, lost to normalcy, lost to closure.

His journeys brought him back to the start.

The continent of Aurora splayed out before him, a vast desert wasteland that supported a solitary oasis — a jewel in the rough that bore its name.  
He passed the gates to the city but did not enter. _Not yet… not just yet._

Under crags that afforded small relief from the searing sun, in blasted clefts in rock faces, between swells of hard-packed sand, he found the hardy blooms.

_Here, I was brought to the brink of death, and saw the face of the psychopomp. Here, I was brought back, and healed._

Their roots dug deep, and Logan wrestled with them, but would not give up. Rich red blossoms collected in his pack, bobbing their indignation as he searched for their sisters.

_Here, I learnt the meaning of awe. Here, I made a promise I should not have made._

At one point, sweat mingled with tears, both making salty tracks to the corners of his mouth.  
Time healed, but what one forgot in the course of that healing only created new wounds when remembered.  
He kept on, until blooms were spilling out of his pack. Satisfied — or seemingly so — he again set his sights on the city gates.

_Here, I failed, but here, I was forgiven. Here, I was chastened, and here, I began again._

He’d considered Bowerstone, the castle. He’d longed to see his sister’s face, to enfold her in his arms and let their weariness be felt instead of spoken. She would understand his, and he would understand hers.  
He would return to that indomitable city, he would. Eventually. He would not seek her out, but she would find him, his mark, and know he was well, and know he loved her still.

_It’ll be all right… it’s all right. It’s easier this way._

Flocks of teasing children swarmed around him, parting and coming together again, taking no notice of the strange windburnt man with greying hair and dulling eyes. Their clothes were streaks of colour against sand and stone, like the flags strung high on posts and the merchants’ exotic wares. Colour more vibrant than could ever be found elsewhere, like the bobbing flowers in Logan’s pack.

The hole yawned wide in Logan’s chest when he finally left Aurora, red sun hovering just above the horizon.  
 _It’s easier this way…_

Kalin took a meandering path home from the market, a basket of goods balanced on her hips. She was ageing, as well, but felt it less acutely — her heart still beat strongly in her chest, and her children and children’s children still murmured yarns about her _hawk’s eyes — three eyes, they see all, so watch it._ Decades of prosperity and unconditional love from her people had softened her edges, brought laugh lines where frown lines might have developed, lightened her nightmares into dreams again.

Kalin was ageing, but she welcomed it the way one welcomed the promise of a good rest after a wonderful day.

Something caught her eye just before she reached her abode.  
A spot of colour was no strange thing in the city, but this was bigger than a spot. Red blossoms spilled over her doorstep, tumbling down the rounded stairs and into the path. One large bloom nestled in the heel of a footprint, and she bent to inspect it.

She knew the shape of this footprint, knew the kind of shoe it created. No one wore shoes like this in Aurora — soled shoes were not even made, they had to be imported from across the sea.  
With a trembling finger, she traced the outline of the print, then lifted one of the large, vivid flowers to her face.  
 _Red, for love._

He wouldn’t be back.  
 _It’s all right,_ and she turned, hearing an explosion of children’s laughter inside the house.   
_It’s easier this way._


End file.
